A Series of Explosions
by pheonix1
Summary: Tony has a problem. Well, he has lots of problems, but only one that followed him home. From the wormhole.


Chapter 1

It started with headaches.

Tony was no stranger to this particular occurrence. From hangovers to head colds (and just once, the wrath of Mistress Caffeine during a short abstinence—he has since remained faithful), he's experienced nearly every flavor of headache in one form or another. So when there's a stabbing pain behind his eyes one day while overseeing repairs to the Tower, he chalks it up to simple exhaustion an resolves to maybe catch an extra hour of sleep; because apparently five is just not getting the job done.

It doesn't end up happening—just because New York is a mess doesn't mean other people give a crap. And hey, he's got a relationship to nurture with attentiveness and sensitivity and really awesome sex (in really awesome places—because Pepper is a _ninja_). Sleep is overrated and it's not like he hasn't been in the 4 to 5 club since he was thirteen. (He's the President. Emperor. Patron Saint. -Anthony of Insomniac.)

Come to think of it, his chronic restlessness and epic all-nighters had never given him anything but a head full of fuzz, so... No explanation there. But, hey. Things happen. What are you gonna do, right?

If you're Tony Stark, you going to do the World's Bestest P.A. over a desk. -And maybe the in the chair, because standing up sucks.

Sweating, heaving and high on endorphins, the state of his head was quickly forgotten in favor of the state of his other…head. Damn. Pepper was always good for...Well, just good. Great. Fucking _perfect_. When she left for L.A. in the morning, the brush of her lips on his temple woke him just enough to prompt a mumbled 'love you' before he sank back into the arms of Morpheus. -Who had great arms, by the way. Better than Steve's.

All the better to wrestle him under. Because when it came to sleep deprivation, Tony was an O.G.

When he finally did greet the day, afternoon—whatever, his migraine was gone like it had never been. And armed as he was with an ungodly ten hours of unconscious bliss, he considered the matter closed.

When the next one came, he was in the suit and it nearly took him out.

_"-Stark! What in the hell are you doing up there!"_

He winced at the reverb; his eardrums pounding to the beat of his own heart.

"JARVIS, mute."

Shaking his head only served to make the HUD swim out of focus. He quickly engaged the auto-pilot and attempted to pull himself together before he did something stupid. Like pass out.

"_Sir, SHEILD is currently hacking the comm system. I cannot fight the attack and maintain control of the Mark VII."_

He groaned out an acquiesce. The pain was fading to a dull ache, and the last thing he needed was Fury on his ass about reckless endangerment and flying under the influence. Never mind that Iron Man hasn't operated on anything stronger than coffee and aspirin since that _one time_ at his birthday—and it's not like anything came of that. (He was _dying_. If he felt like wearing the suit until it was a coffin, that was his own fucking business, wasn't it?) It's always an argument about how the suit is a weapon, how he's not qualified and_ I've got my eye on you, Stark_. Well, whoopty-fucking-doo. He can, at any time, pull the rug out from under SHIELD—Literally. He's had a backdoor to the Helicarrier since day one. And he runs JARVIS up against their pitiful excuse of a firewall as a boot exercise. So he's got, like, a million eyes to Fury's _one_.

Good odds, those. He'll take them to the bank if he has to.

And look. He's saved the day even with a pounding in his skull that has nothing to do with alcohol, thank you very much. Just him and the Capsicle helping the over-taxed NYPD put down some suspiciously well-organized looting. So what if his landing wasn't exactly kosher? He's fine and Steve's a good little bacon-eating Christian anyway—not that Tony's ever really been one for religion.

Meeting the Brothers Grimm (and their cosmic dysfunction) has put his faith, or lack thereof, in perspective. The good, logical, _sane_ one.

His partner (usually that's Bruce, so yeah—weird) looks him over with concern, but he waves it off. Captain America might be a little more wary of SHIELD since the Invasion, but he is very much a military man. Institutionalized. Grew up in a time when people actually _trusted_ the government. Reports to Fury like he's his CO, when he's really just some guy with a lot of fringe stuff going on. And an ass-load of First Gen Stark Tech.

Thanks Dad. That's just… that's just _super_. Glad to know you blew my childhood for a worthy cause and not for some old self-righteous pricks. -Oh, wait…

So. If the old Cyclops wants an ass-chewing, by God he's going to have to work for it. He's not going to come trotting in with a report, and it's certainly not going to come from his very own mouth. It's _not_.

"Open your mouth and say 'Ah'. I want to take a look at your Lymph Nodes."

Ok. _Technicality_. And it's Bruce, anyway. So… there's that.

Swinging his feet like a kid while Bruce pokes around in his mouth with a stick is not exactly what he wanted to do straight off the field, but anyone who's ever fought alongside the Hulk (or ran away, screaming) learns rather quickly that when the Little Guy talks—you listen. And do what he says. Please and Thank You.

Of course, he has to kick it up a notch. Especially after Pepper made the off-hand comment that he and Bruce were _science-boyfriends._ And well, after that endorsement how could he not take the opportunity to add inappropriate (but completely innocent) innuendo to their shameless flirting? -Ok, _his_ shameless flirting?

The correct answer is: Hell yes, this is happening. Bruce gets his daily allusion to sex, and Tony (and by default, Pepper), his cheap laughs. -Bruce thinks they're both insane, but hasn't Hulked-out yet. Go, Team Stark.

Speaking of…

He asks when they're going to have science again. With his mouth open, it comes out as a series of honks, but it succeeds in making him drop the stick. Tony's tongue shoots out and catches it. Caresses it.

"Tony… Do you have to be obscene _all the time_?"

He stops giving the small piece of wood the best tongue it's ever had and rolls his eyes before taking it out.

"You should see what I can do to a cherry stem. And also, yes. To answer your question. It is better to be obscene than heard. Which you didn't, because my mouth was full. Of your stick."

The good Doctor gives Tony a stern look and holds out his hand. He relinquishes his bland-tasting hostage without incident. Tony may be a natural-born instigator but there are places where he has to draw the line—even though he's kinda sure the Hulk likes him.

He doesn't plan on testing that theory any time soon. –At least, outside the armor.

"I didn't have to. Your deviant behavior is a Universal Constant. Although blowing the depressor is a new one. I suppose I could say something about a taste for wood, but that would be gauche."

He is genuinely surprised, but chases it off with a leer. Bruce just said a sex-word (and a sex-pun, so multiplier). Tony is going to have to tell Pepper. They're making a list.

"Hey, if you don't like what's going on in there, stop poking it with a stick." He leans forward as Bruce packs the med kit away, his voice the epitome of serious. "–Give it to me straight; am I going to make it?"

Bruce sighs as he flicks the glorified popsicle stick in the nearest waste basket. It's not the contented sigh of a problem well in hand, nor is it the sigh of exasperated fondness that Tony is intimately acquainted with. He's not quite sure, but it sounds like it might be an actual problem. Damn.

"Well, I can't find anything out of the ordinary—beyond the usual."

"The usual? What's _the usual_? Because if you mean my usual state of awesomeness-"

Bruce gives him a look he usually reserves for Clint and that shuts him up because, _ow_. He and Clint? Total opposites on the scale of intelligence, so there is no way he should be getting that look. Like, _ever_.

"-Well, let's see. Your primary diet is sugar, caffeine and processed meat _by-products_ (this said like a person might say 'bio-hazardous waste material'). If I didn't see you on a daily basis I would assume, from your habits, that you were a four-hundred pound man swiftly approaching a Diabetic coma. If we factor in your stress and general lack of sleep-"

Tony feels the need to mention that his sleep situation is no longer FUBAR.

"Hey, I'm working on that-"

"-amazing that you don't keel over right now. Really, your metabolism is a thing of beauty. If I didn't have to devote most of my time to my own biology, I'd be studying it. I bet your stomach acid could burn a hole through Captain America's shield."

Tony knows he's pulling a face. It's the 'We're-Talking-About-Me, But-I'm-Totally-Not-Into-It' face.

"Look. I know I over-indulge on the caffeinated beverage front, but I object to the insinuation that I am a junk food addict. –If I have a pop tart or a burger every now and then, it doesn't put me on the same level as Thunder Chief or Cupid or even you, my sometimes green friend. I eat healthy. Most of the time."

Bruce is not having it, even though Tony is in the right here. Logical argument and everything.

"-Only because Pepper makes you."

He pounces before Bruce can lay on the guilt trip.

"Ah, but that's beside the point. Need I remind you of your diminutive counterpart's preference for mastication? Because seriously? A whole tub of peanut butter isn't good for anyone—I don't care if the calories burn faster on the Green Giant's metabolism. –It's still your body, am I right?"

Bruce looks like he wants to protest, but Tony's got him. He's seen the good doctor eat some pretty wild things after transforming—so he really has no room to talk about treating his body like a garbage disposal (especially with raw meat involved. Ew).

"Alright. Fine. –But if you have another episode like the one you had today, I'm getting S.H.I.E.L.D. involved."

Tony frowns. That's no idle threat, but it seems a bit extreme for a migraine. Still, it's Bruce so he shrugs and acquiesces. No use in fighting over it, especially since he intends to visit a medical doctor (Bruce is really a biologist, though he acts as an interim doctor) and get the matter taken care of.

Bruce seems pleasantly surprised there was no real argument and they tinker around in his lab for the rest of the day, with Tony lightly poking at the doctor's impenetrable wall of Zen until they both decided to call it a night.

Well, Bruce calls it a night. Tony calls it a half-day and retires to his workshop for some tinkering of his own.

When the next 'episode' happens, he's not awake for it.

–Actually, that's debatable, because he's sure he was awake for some of it but he ended up on the floor with no memory of getting there beyond a flash of _too many voices_ and then nothing. Or something. He's pretty sure it's something, at this point.

Because when he woke up on the floor, he was in the Mark VIII. And the floor was his bedroom floor. Which, hey. No problem. The suit has been whittled down to a wrist band, but it's been programmed to activate under certain conditions. Very specific conditions of the not-accidental kind.

Tony occasionally has the Post-Traumatic Stress thing, but JARVIS knows what to listen for, and what to override and generally who _not_ to contact, so waking up as Iron Man is a little distressing. But he chalks it up to a programing bug and spends the next 18 hours trying to isolate it.

This is where Thor finds him, brain-deep in code and trying to remember if they had the talk about inappropriate electrical discharge.

"Man of Iron! I am gladdened to see you this day!"

Had his AI not given him a head's up, the boisterous greeting coupled with the fact that he _let himself in_ (doors were subjective theory to Thor, at best) might have earned the Asgardian a startled repulsor blast. However, since this was not Tony's first encounter with the God of Thunder (and he gets that now, why it's God of _Thunder_ and not God of _Lightning_—even though it technically is _both_), he simply tries to match his enthusiasm through the lingering daze of prolonged tech emersion.

"Thunder Chief! Good to see you! How goes it in the merry old land of Odd?"

Thor looks at him askance. He supposes that was a stretch (Thor's exposure to television obviously did not include the Classics) but then again, he'd been sifting through lines of code for _hours._ This does not a witty remark make.

"If by your words you mean Asgard, then I must confess that all has not gone as I had planned."

And the enthusiasm is suddenly gone. This.. does not bode well. He really hopes that All-Daddy didn't do what Tony suspects he did in regards to Loki. Because he is not prepared to deal with Thor having a Moment. Just the thought of him getting emotional (in a bad way) is _terrifying_.

Seriously, if it comes down to Imminent Doom and Thor Crying, the world is so screwed right now.

The greeting is telling, though. Certainly Thor would be a wreck if his little brother was dead (or worse, if legend serves), so it must be something else.

"So, plans not working out. Wanna expand on that?"

Thor looks grave and a little… shamed. Vikings do not, unsurprisingly, carry that emotion well. It does shed a little light on just what happened back home, however. And who it was about.

"My brother.. He was to stand trial for his crimes, as was agreed. But during the proceedings, even though the seal was removed, he said not a word. Not in his defense or otherwise. This angered the All-Father, and after untold days of silence, he used his power to peer into Loki's memory and determine the measure of his guilt."

Thor looks away for a moment, his face twisting with pain.

"He.. reacted badly. I have never heard such sounds from any living being, let alone my.. kin. It startled the All-Father to such a degree that he immediately released him and tried to make him _stop-"_

_Screaming,_ Tony thinks, even though Thor doesn't say it. He tries to imagine something that would make the likes of Loki scream and is suddenly gripped with-

_Black_

-"was gone. We could not have known. He did not have the ability before."

Thor's voice pulls him from the memory before he can start hyperventilating (he's already got the cold sweat going) which is good until he processes what Thor is telling him: that his people dropped the ball. In an Epic, most likely earth-shattering way.

"Wait. _Wait._ Are you telling me that Loki pulled a disappearing act? In front of your Dad? In front of _everyone_?"

Tony tries not to sound accusing, but _fuck_. They'd barely scraped together a win from that mess and then _this_. Seriously, _fuck_.

Thor, by some divine intuition, chooses this moment to get _handsy_. It takes everything he has not to have a repeat of that first night, even though he's only a quarter in the suit. The knowledge that he's only got one or two good licks before Mjolnir turns him into a fine paste stays his hand. –That, and Thor's making _eyes_ at him. Jesus.

"Anthony, Son of Stark. Man of Iron. I come before you today, to humbly ask for your oath."

Thor's got Tony by the arms, face on the verge of collapse and Tony is so not ready for this. He's got his own bit of weird going on right now and isn't this something S.H.E.I.L.D. should be taking care of-

Oh.

_Oh._

"-Listen. Thor. I don't know what you want from me, but-"

Thor doesn't _shake_ him exactly, but his hands clench hard enough to make the plates groan and this is Tony, shutting up.

"Please. _Tony._ I will find Loki. –I swear on my life. But the All-Father wishes him brought back to Asgard, alive. He was.. troubled by what he saw when he touched his mind. I would.. I would ask for your help, Man of Iron, but if I cannot have that then all I ask is for your silence. I do not wish for Fury and his S.H.E.I.L.D. to know that my brother is unaccounted for. It will.. complicate matters."

That was a huge understatement. Tony's not sure if he's totally alright with leaving S.H.E.I.L.D. out of the loop this time, but Thor looks desperate and he came to _Tony_ of all people. He's never been _'that guy_'. He honestly doesn't know what to do with this faith/trust thing that Thor is giving him.

He thinks this must be what holding a newborn feels like. For someone like him. Who's never touched a baby.

"Ok. I can totally see that angle. But _why me_? I mean, sure. Fury and I aren't exactly besties, but since that's our usual MO, I'm pretty much ok with that. What I am not ok with, is that your baby brother decided to use _my_ Tower as the stage for his little drama. –And also, people are dead. Lots of people. _My_ people. And when dead people are involved it makes me even less ok. With all of this."

Thor still looks hopeful, if a little confused and Tony really really hates the fact that while he can miraculously understand English, Thor loses a lot in the HUGE GAPING HOLE that was his life before Poptarts.

A place where Tony's wealth of dialogue rests for eternity. What a waste.

"Why do I even-Alright. _Alright._ -Your secret is safe with me, ok? And maybe I could be persuaded to-OOMF!"

Thor's hug was not exactly unexpected, but still. It was like being hugged by the Hulk, if the Hulk were smaller and armored. _Ow._

"-ribs! Ribs, man! I'm mortal over here!"

Thor's laugher is enough of a tension breaker that Tony doesn't even mind the man-handling too much. After he wiggles out of the Asgardian's embrace, he lets JARVIS run the code for a bit and decides to get Thor set up with a room and a plausible story for his return.

Because if they were going to do this thing, it was going to be the Tony Stark Way. -Whatever _that_ was.

* * *

It was an easy thing, to slip his jesses. It had always been so. But never so much as now, has that the skill become essential to his survival—nay, to his very _existence._ And yet…

Here he was. Once again in the shadow of the Mighty Thor. Loathe to venture too far lest he be swept up in this mortal chaos and lost. Without a guide (minions—to call things by their proper name), he was barely afloat in this teeming mass of humanity. Always in danger of standing out too much. Of being so much _more_ than these pathetic creatures could ever hope to be.

Of being found by the ever-watchful (and likely, grudge-wielding) Gatekeeper. -Or worse.

By Thor himself.

He knew he had but a tenuous grip on his so-called freedom. That his brother was keen on hastening back to Asgard where the All-Father would once again invade his mind and tear apart the frayed barriers keeping the darkness at bay.

The people of Midgard called him mad. They had no idea what madness _was_.

Loki knew. It dwelled inside him. He had swallowed up all the horrors of his journey and contained them within himself and still his Fa- the All-Father would have them drawn out. To assess their worth as markers for his _guilt_.

"Hey buddy, are you ok?"

There was a man at his elbow. Not quite touching, just.. hovering. He suddenly became aware that he was taking up a considerable amount of the walk way, and judging by the faint sheen of sweat on his brow, his already wan pallor was probably ghastly.

It is a good thing the mortal had not touched him. A very good thing, indeed.

He made his excuses and assured the man he was fine, lies rolling off his tongue with ease. Cursing his moment of weakness, he continued on his way. Prowling the streets within view of Tony Stark's glass keep.

He frowned.

Thor had not yet made contact with the organization known as S.H.E.I.L.D., though they were the first warriors of worth that Thor had met upon his exile. It was the reason Loki had chosen among them during his fruitless endeavor with the Chitauri. Clint Barton had been an exceptional find among their lot, even by his own exacting standards.

It was too bad the man nursed a grudge. If he still had him in his service, he'd have no need of Thor.

No, Thor had forgone his previous allies and had gone directly to Tony Stark. Which was odd. According to Barton, the self-proclaimed genius was haughty, egotistical and most generous with his scorn. He had not a shred of humility nor shame, and was constantly at odds with those around him save for a very select few.

Even the Sainted Captain America was put off by him, which was quite a feat given the man's temperament.

Loki was no fool. He could see the similarities in personality between himself and Stark, had seen them that day in the glass tower. It was why he'd attempted to press the man into his service, after all. To remove the threat of his interference. Because he knew that while Iron Man was a formidable foe, it was the intellect within the armor that posed the greatest risk.

Perhaps Thor too, had seen the likeness and hoped that, with Stark's help, he could locate Loki discretely and with a minimum of fuss. Perhaps even a modicum of dignity. Stark's offering of hospitality during the thick of their ordeal had been… enlightening. Oh, it had been a poorly-concealed stall, but even in the midst of his bluff he had seen that Loki's endeavor was doomed to failure. Had tried to see the reasoning behind his participation.

He might have even guessed it, had he all the information. Seen right through the lie with all the skill of a consummate deceiver.

He would have to be even more cautious now. Tony Stark's involvement would complicate things, but it was by far not the worst-case scenario. There was a bit of leeway there, and Loki would exploit it if needed.

After all, for this mortal who was so much like himself, it was only logical that his lust for knowledge would override fear, pride and even good judgment. –So long as Loki could keep his interest.

And he would keep him interested, oh yes.


End file.
